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ends seriously; and, they resolving that it is useless to argue longer with this impenitent sinner, "somebody casts fire to Iniquity," and he departs in a tempest of squibs and crackers. The business of the play now at length begins. Darius tells his attendants that the three men who kept his chamber while he slept woke him by their disputing and murmuring,— "Every man to say a weightier matter than the

other."

The subject of their dispute was, what is the strongest thing; and their answers, as we are informed by the King's attendants, had been reduced to writing :

"The sentence of the first man is this,
Wine a very strong thing is;

The second also I will declare to you,
That the king is stronger than any other
thing verily;

The third also I will declare

Women, saith he, is the strongest of all,
Though by women we had a fall.”

Of their respective texts the three young men are then called in to make exposition; and certainly, whatever defects of manners were exhibited by the audiences of that day, they must have possessed the virtue of patience in a remarkable degree to have enabled them to sit out these most prolix harangues. But they have an end; and the king declares Zorobabel to be deserving of signal honours, in his demonstration that, of all things, woman is the strongest. A metrical prayer for Queen Elizabeth, uttered by Constancy, dismisses the audience to their homes*.

The most precise and interesting account which we possess of one of the earliest of the theatrical performances is from the recollection of a man who was born in the same year as William Shakspere. In 1639 R. W. (R. Willis), stating his age to be seventy-five, published a little volume, called 'Mount Tabor,' which contains a passage which is essential to be given in any history or sketch of the early stage :

There is a copy of this very curious production in the Garrick Collection of Plays in the British Museum; and a transcript of Garrick's copy is in the Bodleian Library.

"UPON A STAGE PLAY, WHICH I SAW WHEN I WAS A CHILD.

The

"In the city of Gloucester the manner is (as I think it is in other like corporations) that, when players of interludes come to town, they first attend the mayor to inform him what nobleman's servants they are, and so to get license for their public playing; and if the mayor like the actors, or would show respect to their lord and master, he appoints them to play their first play before himself and the aldermen and common council of the city; and that is called the mayor's play, where every one that will comes in without money, the mayor giving the players a reward as he thinks fit, to show respect unto them. At such a play my father took me with him, and made me stand between his legs, as he sat upon one of the benches, where we saw and heard very well. play was called 'The Cradle of Security,' wherein was personated a king or some great prince, with his courtiers of several kinds, amongst which three ladies were in special grace with him, and they, keeping him in delight and pleasures, drew him from his graver counsellors, hearing of sermons, and listening to good counsel and admonitions, that in the end they got him to lie down in a cradle upon the stage, where these three ladies, joining in a sweet song, rocked him asleep, that he snorted again, and in the mean time closely conveyed under the clothes wherewithal he was covered a vizard like a swine's snout upon his face, with three wire chains fastened thereunto, the other end whereof being holden severally by those three ladies, who fall to singing again, and then discovered his face, that the spectator might see how they had transformed him going on with their singing. Whilst all this was acting, there came forth of another door at the farthest end of the stage two old men, the one in blue, with a sergeant-at-arms his mace on his shoulder, the other in red, with a drawn sword in his hand, and leaning with the other hand upon the other's shoulder, and so they two went along in a soft pace, round about by the skirt of the stage, till at last they came to the cradle, when all the

court was in greatest jollity, and then the foremost old man with his mace stroke a fearful blow upon the cradle, whereat all the courtiers, with the three ladies and the vizard, all vanished; and the desolate prince, starting up barefaced, and finding himself thus sent for to judgment, made a lamentable complaint of his miserable case, and so was carried away by wicked spirits. This prince did personate in the moral the wicked of the world; the three ladies, pride, covetousness, and luxury; the two old men the end of the world and the last judgment. This sight took such impres

sion in me, that when I came towards man's estate it was as fresh in my memory as if I had seen it newly acted."

It would appear from Willis's description that 'The Cradle of Security' was for the most part dumb show. It is probable that he was present at its performance at Gloucester when he was six or seven years of age. It evidently belongs to that class of moral plays which were of the simplest construction. And yet it was popular long after the English drama had reached its highest eminence.

CHAPTER III.
ITINERANT PLAYERS.

IN a later period of the stage, when the
actors chiefly depended upon the large sup-
port of the public, instead of receiving
the wages of noblemen, however wealthy
and powerful, the connection of a company
of players with a great personage, whose
"servants" they were called, was scarcely
more than a licence to act without the in-
terference of the magistrate. But, in the
period of the stage which we are now de-
scribing, it would appear that the players
were literally the retainers of powerful
lords, who employed them for their own
recreation, and allowed them to derive a
profit from occasional public exhibitions. |
In 'The Third Blast of Retreat from Plays
and Theatres' we have the following pas-
sage, which appears decisive upon this point:
-"What credit can return to the nobleman
to countenance his men to exercise that
quality which is not sufferable in any com-
monweal? Whereas, it was an ancient cus-
tom that no man of honour should retain
any man but such as was as excellent in
some one good quality or another, whereby,
if occasion so served, he might get his own
living. Then was every nobleman's house a
commonweal in itself. But since the retain-

men hath decayed, and they are thought to be covetous by permitting their servants, which cannot live by themselves, and whom for nearness they will not maintain, to live on the devotion or alms of other men, passing from country to country, from one gentleman's house to another, offering their service, which is a kind of beggary. Who, indeed, to speak more truly, are become beggars for their servants. For commonly the good-will men bear to their lords makes them draw the strings of their purses to extend their liberality to them, where otherwise they would not." Speaking of the writers of plays, the same author adds,-" But some perhaps will say the nobleman delighteth in such things, whose humours must be contented, partly for fear and partly for commodity; and if they write matters pleasant they are best preferred in Court among the cunning heads." In the old play of The Taming of a Shrew' the players in the 'Induction' are presented to us in very homely guise. The messenger tells the lord

"Your players be come, And do attend your honour's pleasure here."

ing of these caterpillars the credit of noble- The stage-direction then says, "Enter two

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It

of the players with packs at their backs, and | perboles, amphibologies, similitude."* a boy." To the question of the lord,— "Now, sirs, what store of plays have you?"— the Clown answers, Marry, my lord, you may have a tragical or a commodity, or what you will;" for which ignorance the other player rebukes the Clown, saying, "A comedy, thou shouldst say: zounds! thou 'lt shame us all." Whether this picture belongs to an earlier period of the stage than the similar scene in Shakspere's 'Induction,' or whether Shakspere was familiar with a better order of players, it is clear that in his scene the players appear as persons of somewhat more importance, and are treated with more respect :

is a dramatized romance, of which the title expresses that it represents a possible aspect of human life; and the name of the chief

character, Common Conditions, from which the play derives its title, would import that he does not belong to the supernatural or allegorical class of personages. Mr. Collier, in his History of Dramatic Poetry,' expresses an opinion that the character of Common

.

Conditions is the Vice of the performance.

It appears to us, on the contrary, that the ordinary craft of a cunning knave—a little, restless, tricky servant-works out all the action, in the same way that the Vice had formerly interfered with it in the moral plays; but that he is essentially

"Lord. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 't is and purposely distinguished from the Vice.

that sounds:

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Now, fellows, you are welcome.
Players. We thank your honour.
Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-
night?

2 Play. So please your lordship to accept
our duty.

Lord. With all my heart."

The lord, however, even in this scene, gives
his order, "Take them to the buttery,"-
a proof that the itinerant companies were
classed little above menials.

Of the performances of an itinerant company at this period we will select an example of "Comedy."

con

Mr. Collier also calls this play merely an interlude it appears to us in its outward form to be as much a comedy as the 'Winter's Tale.'

Three tinkers appear upon the stage, singing,

“Hey tisty toisty, tinkers good fellows they be; In stopping of one hole, they used to make three."

These worthies are called Drift, Unthrift, and Shift; and, trade being bad with them, they agree to better it by a little robbing. Unthrift tells his companions,

"But, masters, wot ye what? I have heard news about the court this day,

That there is a gentleman with a lady gone

away;

And have with them a little parasite full of

money and coin."

These travellers the tinkers agree to rob; and we have here an example of the readiness of the stage to indulge in satire. The purveyors who, a few years later, were denounced in Parliament, are, we suppose, here pointed at. Shift says,

"We will take away their purses, and say we do it by commission;"

'A Pleasant Comedie called Common Conditions' is neither a Mystery nor a Moral Play. It dispenses with impersonations of Good and Evil; Iniquity holds no troversy with Charity, and the Devil is not brought in to buffet or to be buffeted. to which Drift replies, The play is written in rhymed verse, and very ambitiously written. The matter is "set out with sweetness of words, fitness of epithets, with metaphors, allegorics, hy

"Who made a commissioner of you?

If thou make no better answer at the bar, thou wilt hang, I tell thee true."

*Gosson.Plays Confuted,' second action.

The gentleman and lady from the court, Sedmond and Clarisia, then come out of the wood, accompanied by their servant, Conditions. It appears that their father has long been absent, and they are travelling to seek him. Clarisia is heavy-hearted; and her brother thus consoles her, after the fashion of "epithets, metaphors, and hyperboles:"

"You see the chirping birds begin you melody to make,

But you, ungrateful unto them, their pleasant voice forsake:

You see the nightingale also, with sweet and pleasant lay,

Sound forth her voice in chirping wise to banish care away.

You see Dame Tellus, she with mantle fresh and green,

For to display everywhere most comely to be seen;

You see Dame Flora, she with flowers fresh

and gay,

hang himself, and to help him up in the tree to accomplish his determination. They consent, arguing that if he hangs himself they shall be free from the penalty of hanging him; and so into the tree he goes. Up the branches he runs like a squirrel, hallooing for help, whilst the heavy tinkers have no chance against his activity and his Sheffield knife. They finally make off; and Conditions releases his mistress. The next scene presents us Sedmond, the brother, alone. He laments the separation from his sister, and the uncertainty which he has of ever finding his father:

"But farewell now, my coursers brave, attrapped to the ground;

Farewell, adieu, all pleasures eke, with comely hawk and hound:

Farewell, ye nobles all; farewell each martial knight;

Farewell, ye famous ladies all, in whom I did delight."

Both here and there and everywhere, her Sedmond, continuing his lament, says,—

banners to display."

The lady will have no comfort. She replies to her brother in a long echo to his speech, ending

"And therefore, brother, leave off talk; in vain

you seem to prate:

Not all the talk you utter can, my sorrows can abate."

Conditions ungallantly takes part against the lady, by a declamation in dispraise of women; which is happily cut short by the tinkers rushing in. Now indeed we have movement which will stir the audience. The brother escapes; the lady is bound to a tree; Conditions is to be hanged; but his adroitness, which is excessively diverting, altogether reminding one of another little knave, the Flibbertigibbet of Scott, sets the audience in a roar. They are realizing the description of Gosson," In the theatres they generally take up a wonderful laughter, and shout altogether with one voice when they see some notable cozenage practised." ""* When the tinkers have the noose round the neck of Conditions, he persuades them to let him

*Plays Confuted,' &c.

"Adieu, my native soil; adieu, Arbaccas king; Adieu, each wight and martial knight; adieu,

each living thing:

Adieu, my woful sire, and sister in like case, Whom never I shall see again each other to

embrace;

For now I will betake myself a wandering knight to be,

Into some strange and foreign land, their comeliness to see."

When Conditions released the lady, we learnt that the scene was Arabia:—

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And, lady, it is not best for us in Arabia longer to tarry."

It is to Arabia, his native soil, that Sedmond bids adieu. But the audience learn by a very simple expedient that a change is to take place: a board is stuck up with the word "Phrygia" upon it, and a new character, Galiarbus, entereth "out of Phrygia." He is the father of the fugitives, who, banished from Arabia, has become rich, and obtained a lordship from the Duke of Phrygia; but he thinks of his children, and bitterly laments that they must never meet. Those children have arrived in Phrygia; for a new character appears, Lamphedon, the son of the Duke,

who has fallen violently in love with a lady whom we know by his description to be Clarisia. Conditions has discovered that his mistress is equally in love with Lamphedon; all which circumstances are described and not rendered dramatic: and then Conditions, for his own advantage, brings the two lovers together, and they plight their troth, and are finally married. The lost brother, Sedmond, next makes his appearance under the name of Nomides; and with him a Phrygian lady, Sabia, has fallen in love. But her love is unrequited; she is rejected, and the uncourteous knight flies from her. Lamphedon and Clarisia are happy at the Duke's court; but Conditions, as it obscurely appears, wanting to be travelling again, has irritated the Duchess against her daughter-in-law, and they both, accompanied by Conditions, fly to take ship for Thracia. They fall in with pirates, who receive them on ship-board, having been secretly promised by Conditions that they will afford a good booty. We soon learn, by the appearance of Lamphedon, that they have thrown him overboard, and that he has lost his lady; but the pirates, who are by no means bad specimens of the English mariner, soon present themselves again, with a seasong, which we transcribe; for assuredly it was fitted to rejoice the hearts of the playgoers of a maritime nation:

"Lustily, lustily, lustily, let us sail forth;

The wind trim doth serve us, it blows from the north.

All things we have ready and nothing we want To furnish our ship that rideth hereby; Victuals and weapons they be nothing scant; Like worthy mariners ourselves we will try. Lustily, lustily, &c. Her flags be new trimmed, set flaunting aloft; Our ship for swift swimming, oh, she doth excel:

We fear no enemies, we have escaped them oft: Of all ships that swimmeth, she beareth the

bell.

Lustily, lustily, &c.

And here is a master excelleth in skill,
And our master's mate he is not to seek;

If Fortune then fail not, and our next voyage prove,

We will return merrily and make good cheer, And hold altogether as friends link'd in love; The cans shall be filled with wine, ale, and beer.

Lustily, lustily," &c.

The action of this comedy is conducted for the most part by description; an easier thing than the dramatic development of plot and character. Lamphedon falls in with the pirates, and by force of arms he compels them to tell him of the fate of his wife. She has been taken, it seems, by Conditions, to be sold to Cardolus, an island chief; and then Lamphedon goes to fight Cardolus, and he does fight him, but finds not the lady. Conditions has however got rid of his charge, by persuading her to assume the name of Metræa, and enter the service of Leosthines. Hardship must have wonderfully changed her; for after a time her brother, Sedmond, arrives under his assumed name, and becomes a candidate for her affections. The good old man under whose protection she remains has adopted her as his daughter. Lamphedon is on the way to seek her, accompanied by Conditions; and thus by accident, and by the intrigues of the knavish servant, all those are reunited who have suffered in separation: for Leosthines is the banished father. How Conditions is disposed of is not so clear. He is constantly calling himself a little knave, and a crafty knave, a parasite, a turncoat; and he says,

"Conditions? nay, double Conditions is my

name,

That for my own advantage such dealings can frame."

It is difficult to discover what advantage he derives from his trickiness, yet he has always a new trick. It is probable that he was personated by some diminutive performer, whose grimaces and ugliness would make the audience roar with delight. The tinkers in the first scene say they know not what to do with him, except to set him to

66

And here is a boatswain will do his good will, keep crows." The object of the writer of the

And here is a ship, boy, we never had leak. Lustily, lustily, &c.

* A leaf or two is lost of the original copy, but enough remains to let us see how the plot will end. We learn that Nomides repents of his rejection of Sabia.

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